During Martin's first prep Granny (for so he was called) showed signs of a cold. He blew his nose perpetually and with skill: the noise was as the blare of trumpets.
"Would you mind moderating your efforts?" suggested Martin from his chair.
"Certainly not," said Granny with supreme urbanity.
It was cheek, and a titter ran round the workroom. Martin had been gifted by nature with an unfortunate capacity for blushing, and he blushed now.
"Don't give me any of that lip or you'll get into trouble," he said without conviction.
"That was not my intention," answered Granny, urbane as ever. "I'm very sorry."
Again there was a titter. Martin blushed and swore inwardly: he knew that he was not beginning well.
A few minutes later one Dickinson said: "Please can we have the window open: there's an awful frowst."
"I suppose so," answered Martin. "It does seem a bit thick in here."
Here was Granny's chance. He sneezed magnificently. "May I go and fetch my overcoat?" he asked mildly.